Stronger
by Crystal Sampson
Summary: As Sam hung from the cross, he had time to think. He considered his part in the apocalypse and everything Dean had said. This was his punishment. He understood that now. He had to endure this because of all the pain he had caused with his own two hands.


_Disclaimer: Not mine. I didn't come up with the Supernatural thing and I don't make any money from it._

WARNING: This involved a crucifixion. It describes said experience a bit. I might be squeamish, but I feel vaguely disquieted by having written this. You have been warned. This was part of my hc_bingo card for round six.

* * *

 _We're not stronger when we're together._

Sam certainly didn't feel stronger apart, but if this is what it took to keep Dean alive and fighting, then he'd do it. That was the only thing that gave him any comfort. That and the fact that soon there would be one less piece to this whole apocalypse to worry about.

He drew in a shallow breath, too tired and in too much pain to leverage himself up to get a proper lungful of air. He would die soon. He closed his eyes. It wouldn't be long now.

 _I'm sorry, Dean._

 _xXx_

He'd known he was being followed as he made his way back to the tiny apartment he'd been using for the past weeks. It was late, nearly three a.m. He was just off of work in the bar and he wanted to crash on the flimsy mattress that was waiting for him and sleep for ten hours straight. He couldn't of course. He had to be back at work in roughly eight, but he could dream.

It was the shadow that tipped him off. It was following him, moving just a second after he moved and always staying the same distance from him. There were footsteps that weren't quite in sync with his own and quiet breathing, made loud in the deserted street. Whoever it was obviously thought they were being sneaky, but were failing miserably at it.

He assumed that it was just a mugger. An inexperienced one. Just about anything else that would be after him would be a lot better at covering their tracks.

He ignored whoever it was until he was almost back to his apartment. There was a church only a couple of blocks away that he passed by every day. He ducked around a corner and up the gravel path to the entryway, slipping inside the heavy doors and letting them thump shut behind him.

The average petty thief would hesitate to attack someone on church property. Sam always thought it was weird that people who could beat up and steal from some random guy were wary of the wrath of God. He also knew that sacred ground would protect him from a number of supernatural threats.

If it was something more potent, well, it would soon learn why Sam lived up the street from a Catholic church and carried a silver blade on him. He wasn't stupid. He knew he was enemy number one for a lot of big baddies out there. Heaven and Hell both wanted him personally.

He was mildly surprised to hear the door creak after he had seated himself in one of the pews near the back. Three sets of footsteps echoed up the main aisle. Obviously they weren't deterred by the possibility of holy wrath. Which meant he was going to have to take care of this the old fashioned way.

The three mean stopped at his pew and one sat down beside him. He thought he recognized him. There was something about the scraggly beard and deep set eyes that seemed familiar.

"Funny seeing you here, Sammy boy." That voice Sam would recognize anywhere. It was Devin Gains, a hard as they came ghost hunter. He'd teamed up with John once when Sam was in middle school. He had an air of danger, even back then, that sent chills down Sam's spine. Even John had told Sam and Dean to keep clear.

Sam stared straight ahead at the front alter. "There's only one person who gets to call me that. You aren't him."

"Ah, yes," Devin said. "Big brother. Not to worry. I'm sure he'll be along shortly." He carefully picked dirt out from under his fingernails. Not that it would do him much good. The man was big and burly. He had at least a month's worth of unshaved beard and he was covered in grime.

Sam shook his head. "You've been misinformed. He's not here. We split up. No idea where he might be."

Devin chuckled. "Oh, I know. We know all about your little family drama. Couldn't stand the sight of you anymore, could he?"

Sam turned to look the man in the eye. "Dean's not in the picture any more. He's got his own stuff to worry about." And he wasn't stupid enough to think Dean would come running to rescue him after everything that had happened.

Devin grinned and Sam barely had time to dodge the fist flying at his head.

xXx

They fought for five long minutes. Sam held his own against the three of them, even managing to pull his knife and get in a couple of nasty cuts until one landed a well-aimed kick to his kidney. Sam dropped, his blade skittering across the floor. It was all the opportunity the men needed to immobilize him.

When he was trapped in a deadly headlock, his feet barely scraping the ground, Devin put himself in Sam's line of vision with an oily grin.

"Very good, Sammy boy. Seems daddy taught you well. Too bad Gary there didn't like John Winchester very much. Hate is such a delicious motivator, don't you think?"

Sam was too busy struggling against the hold he was in to respond. "Actually, both Richard and Gary were keen to join me in this little hunt. We've been searching for you." Devin had walked up the few steps to the nave where he was eyeing the massive cross. "See, we know what an abomination you are and we're planning on putting an end to it. Make the world safer for all those innocent folks out there."

Devin snapped and Richard moved in. Sam had a second's warning before meaty fists began pounding into him. It felt like he was being ground to pieces between the too tight hold on his throat and the punches slamming into him.

It went on forever before there was a loud clank and Devin said, "That's enough, Rich. Let's get this over with."

Rich moved away and Sam could see that Devin had laid the cross on the floor, a toolbox open beside it. Sam tried to struggle. He thrashed with what little strength he had left, but his arms and legs felt impossibly ponderous and he was at the wrong angle to be able to do much damage.

Gary threw him down on his back across the wood and flopped down on top of him, driving the air out of Sam's lungs. Rich wrestled his arm down and held it in place as Devin watched. The man had produced a mallet and was surveying Sam's state with a look of triumph. He smiled down at Sam.

"This is going to hurt."

Sam bucked as hard as he could, but Rich and Gary had him pinned. Devin raised the mallet. It began to arc downward and Sam went cold. He screamed as the metal was driven through his hand. One. Two. Three. Each blow of the mallet sent the thick nail in deeper and deeper. Sam could feel it. Behind the agony of the torn flesh, the metal rubbed against skin and muscle and bone as it was driven home.

Above him, Devin was talking. The men laughed, but Sam was trying not to breathe too hard or jar his hand. Rich was up and his movement sent another wave of pain as it shifted his arm. Sam choked back a sob. He walked around Sam to his other side. Sam mustered the last of his strength and lashed out at Gary. If he could get the weight off his chest, he could defend himself.

Gary barely budged despite Sam's furious rain of blows. Rich laughed and pinned his right arm against the wood of the cross.

Sam knew it was coming. He saw the mallet. Saw Devin.

He couldn't breathe.

His vision went white when the next nail was driven through his other hand with much more force this time. He clung to the pain. He didn't want to pass out. He couldn't. He refused to give in and let them have their way.

Finally Rich moved towards his feet. Gary hadn't moved, so Sam's view was partially blocked, but he guestimated. He waited until Rich leaned over to grab his feet, then kicked with all his strength. Rich swore and doubled over, nose streaming blood. Gary scowled down at Sam. Before Sam realized what he was doing, Gary had slammed his head against the floor, making Sam's vision swim. In the seconds it took to reorient himself, they had pinned his legs as well.

When the third nail met flesh, Sam finally gave in to the blackness creeping at the edge of his vision.

xXx

As Sam hung from the cross, he had time to think. He considered his part in the apocalypse and everything Dean had said. He thought about how much of a monster he had become. Between his mission to avenge Dean, listening to Ruby, and drinking the demon blood, killing Lilith had been the icing on the cake, really.

As Sam shifted, he felt the pain lance through his limbs.

This was his punishment. He understood that now. He had to endure this because of all the pain he had caused with his own two hands.

xXx

Sam knew when he started to go into shock. He felt the shivers begin to creep up his spine and time started slipping in and out of focus. He thought he might have a concussion from Gary's blow, but he wasn't all that sure it mattered at this point anyway.

He kept being drawn back to the sight of the dead priest slumped in front of the altar. He had run in as the hunters had been hoisting Sam upright. Devin barely blinked before he pulled his gun and shot the man in the head. His blood had pooled under his head as he lay face down in the carpet.

Would he be found before or after Sam was gone?

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a little voice was reminding him that it took three days for a person to die from dehydration. Surely someone would realize the priest was missing before then. Someone would visit the church.

The bigger part of him knew it didn't matter.

xXx

Sometime later he heard a voice a very long way away. It was calling his name. It sounded safe and familiar.

xXx

"Sammy!"

Dean rushed up the aisle to where Sam was hanging.

"Sam! Come on, talk to me." But Sam didn't respond.

Sam was hanging by his own hands. There was blood all over his face and his kneck was a deep purple. There were bruises showing under his shirt and Dean was wondering if there was a piece of his brother that didn't look like it had met with a meat grinder.

If he ever found out who had done this, they were dead.

Dean had received a text from Sam just as he was about to call his brother and make a truce. The text had been short, only four words long: _Garber, OK. Come soon._ The next text, an image of Sam nailed to a cross hanging like a limp doll from the splintering wood had sent him into a panic. That image had him flying down the highway in a race against time.

When he reached his brother, he stopped short. The cross itself was wedged into a stand near the wall of windows behind the altar. There was no room to lean it back and Dean was almost positive that it would do Sam more harm to lower him face first. The last thing he wanted to do was put more pressure on those wounds.

Except, short of tearing out the wall, there weren't many options. That was the only way he was going to get that cross down by himself. Dean reached up and patted Sam's leg. It was the only bit of Sam he could reach without finding something to climb on. Sam stirred a little, but didn't open his eye.

"Come on, Sam. I need you to wake up."

He didn't want to hurt the kid, but he needed to make sure he was still fighting. He smacked the bare bit of ankle, trying to be careful, but it must have jarred his bleeding feet. Sam gasped and his eyes flew open. They rolled across the room but didn't seem to be seeing anything.

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "Sam." He patted his brother's leg trying to draw his attention without hurting him anymore. "Sam, pay attention. I need you to focus on me."

Sam blinked down at him. "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me, Sam. Hang on. I'm going to get you down, but it's not going to be fun."

"Dean." Sam's voice was low, almost a whisper. "I'm sorry Dean. I understand now."

Dean had braced the beam and was working on releasing it from the stand. "I've got to lower you forward a bit before I can turn this thing over. Hang on for me."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for Sam. Just hold on."

"Wish I could tell you."

Dean paused in his efforts to release the cross from its base. "Tell me what, Sam?"

Sam licked his lips and drew in a shallow breath. Dean could hear something liquid rattling in his chest when he did. That better be aspirated blood from his broken nose and not a punctured lung. "M sorry. You were right." His words were starting to slur together. "'M a monster after all. Least you don't have to worry 'bout me anymore. I never said yes. You can keep going cause you're the strong one." His eyes slipped shut and Dean shook the wood resting against his shoulder.

"Sam, hey! You're not going anywhere. Stay with me. I'm going to get you down."

But Sam was out again. Dean worked as fast as he could. Sam cried out when the cross pitched forward and his hands and feet took the full weight of his body, but as soon as Dean had the clearance, he rotated it so that he was lowering Sam onto his back.

Once Sam was down, Dean dropped to his knees next to his brother's head, patting his cheek until Sam opened his eyes. "S'over?"

Dean sagged with relief. He'd been worried when Sam had been passed out for most of the ordeal. "Yeah Sam," he said, leaning back on his haunches. "It's nearly over. Stay with me just a little while longer. Gotta get you off here then we'll get you patched up."

Sam's eyes slipped closed again and Dean went back to smacking his cheek until they opened. "You gotta stay awake. Just for a little bit."

He moved to Sam's left hand and surveyed the damage. The flesh was ripped and even with the wedge of metal still in place, it was oozing blood. It was going to gush when Dean took the nail out. He'd have to work fast and get Sam to the hospital before he lost too much blood.

He looked over at Sam and found his brother staring at him through bloodshot eyes. "Gonna have to pull this out. It's going to hurt like a bitch, but it'll be quick."

Dean cursed when he realized he didn't actually have a way to remove the nails. He cast a desparate eye around the room, but it wasn't like churches came fully equipped with power tools. He'd have to go out to the car and come back. Dean glanced down at Sam, he was slipping back under fast.

Dean grabbed Sam's shoulder. "Hey, I've got to get the tools from the car. I need you to stay awake while I'm gone. You hear me?"

Sam didn't really respond. His head sort of listed towards Dean, but he didn't say anything and Dean wasn't sure he had even heard.

He'd have to do something. Thinking fast, he said, "Okay, geek boy. Quiz time. I want you to recite an exorcism."

Sam grunted and his bleary eyes fell on Dean.

"Wasn't a demon."

"Doesn't matter," Dean said. "Humor me. Recite."

"'M tired. Don't wanna."

"And I don't care. Start exorcising. And don't stop until I get back." Dean stood and waited for Sam, barely breathing. "Today, Sam. If you don't start reciting soon, I'm going to have to start pinching you."

Sam gave a little whine, but dutifully began speaking in a dull whisper. " _Exorcizamus te, omnis -"_

"The whole thing."

Sam's eyes fell shut, but he started again. " _Regna terraa, cantate…Deo..., psallite Domino"_

It was breathy and stuttering. Sam kept going. After the first few lines, Dean made the dash for the car. He nearly broke the key in the lock and made no effort to do more than fling the weapons to one side of the trunk until he found spare tools they kept in the very bottom. He grabbed the first pair of pliers he touched and sprinted back to Sam, who was still stumbling through the Latin of the exorcism.

Dean let Sam keep going. So long as he was talking, he was conscious. As long as he was conscious, he wasn't in immediate danger.

Dean braced his foot against the wood and gripped the nail with the pliers. "Okay," he said, more to himself than to Sam. "On the count of three. One…two…three," he gave a strong tug and the nail pulled free. Sam screamed, his back arching and his head pushing back into the wood of the cross. Dean didn't waste any time. He rushed to free the other hand then Sam's feet. The last gave him some trouble. Sam was writhing mindlessly and he was pulling at the wound. Dean was afraid he would cause more damage, but he didn't hesitate. Every minute he spent staring instead of acting meant Sam lost more blood and cut down on the time he had to reach a doctor.

He got Sam's feet free and was faced with a whole new challenge. Sam had completely passed out and Dean didn't think he'd be able to wake him this time. But Sam was tall and all muscle. It had only been adrenaline that had let him lower the cross in the first place. Now that that was wearing off, he wasn't sure he could lift Sam to carry him out to the car. He was also hesitant to hoist him into a fireman's carry in case it actually had been a punctured lung. The less pressure on his core, the better until he knew for sure whether there was any internal bleeding.

Dean glanced around, looking for anything that could help. There was not much there besides an alter covered in a white cloth. Dean stared at it and could have almost smiled. That would work. He swiped the ornaments on the table into the floor and snatched the cloth up. With a sharp snap, he spread it on the ground next to Sam and gently slid his brother on top of it. Gathering up the ends, he was pleased to find it long enough for him to stand and still haul Sam behind him.

It took him five precious minutes to get Sam to the door of the church going as gently as he could and then into the car. Then Dean was speeding down the highway following the blue signs to an emergency room where doctors whisked Sam away before Dean could even ask for help.

They came back a few minutes later asking questions. It was a mark of how scared he was that he told them the truth, or most of it. He'd been away when he got the text from Sam's own phone with that horrible picture. He'd hauled ass and found Sam suspended from a fucking cross in a church and gotten him there as quickly as possible. He didn't know what had happened or who was responsible but it he ever found out….

Dean had at least had the presence of mind to dig out Sam's wallet and give his current alias. The doctors nodded with tight eyes. Seemed Sam had made a few friends in the time they'd been separated.

xXx

It was three days before Sam was de-medicated enough to wake up. It took a lot of effort to even process that he was aware again. When he opened his eyes to find a white ceiling and clean blankets, he was completely disoriented. Add in the fact that Dean was sitting in a chair next to his bed and Bobby had nodded off in an armchair in the corner of the room, and Sam assumed he must be hallucinating. Wasn't he supposed to be in torment waiting to die?

Maybe he had died. Maybe this was the afterlife. But if it was Hell, it seemed far too peaceful and if it was Heaven, then he sure felt like crap. Even through the drug haze, he could tell he was hurting, he just couldn't quite feel it.

He blinked and glared at the ceiling trying to make sense of it. His thoughts kept getting derailed and his eyes would be drawn back to Dean. Sam must have shifted because Dean turned to look at him. His eyes were tired and his face seemed to sag.

"Sam?" Dean sounded uncertain.

Sam had to work to put words together. His tongue was thick and awkward in his mouth. "D'n? 'm I dreaming?"

Dean leaned forward and smiled at him. "Thank God you're awake. You had us worried."

"Not dead?" Sam was still trying to work through the implications of that possibility.

Dean frowned. "No. You're alive. Took the doctors a lot to patch you up, but you're still kicking."

Sam closed his eyes. He was supposed to have died. "Sorry."

"What," Dean demanded, bewildered. "You've got nothing to be sorry for."

"Was supposed to die. Part of my punishment."

Dean leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "What punishment," he asked. "What are you talking about Sam?"

"For being a monster. Was supposed to die so I couldn't hurt anyone else. Messed it up. Sorry."

Dean gripped his arm so tightly Sam felt his hand going numb. "No, Sam. You weren't supposed to die. You're not a monster. You –"

"Am too. You said so."

"No, I didn't."

"Did so."

"No. I didn't. I never said that."

Sam decided the point wasn't worth arguing. He blinked against the sleep that was trying to drag him back under. Dean started carding a hand through Sam's hair and Sam felt his eyelids dropping. "Get some sleep," Dean said. "We'll talk when you're feeling better."

xXx

The next day he was a little more lucid and pieced together that he was in the hospital. This time he woke to find Dean passed out in his chair, head tipped back and snoring loud enough to be heard down the hall. The whiteboard said the nurse had last been in at 9:53, but that information meant little to Sam without a clock. He lifted his hand out of habit to check his watch, but drew in a sharp breath when pain lanced up his arm.

Dean was awake the next second pushing his arm back down on the bed. "Hey, Sam. Easy. That hand's already been through enough."

Sam met Dean's eye and frowned. He was still confused. Last thing he really remembered was hanging by his hands and feet in St. Francis's believing he was going to die there.

"Dean?"

Dean smiled at him. "Good to see you awake. I was beginning to think you were going to sleep the rest of the day again."

"What happened? Why are you here? I thought…" Sam couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence. He'd thought a lot of things. He'd thought Dean had left him for good. He'd thought he was completely on his own now. He'd thought he was going to die. None of those were particularly novel thoughts on their own, but smashed all together they had punched a hole neatly through Sam's heart.

"I got a text from your phone with a picture of you on that fucking cross." Dean smirked a little. The effect was ruined by the worry Sam could see in his eyes. "Had to come save me a damsel in distress. One of the perks of the job. Never seen such an ugly damsel though."

Sam stared down at where Dean's hand was resting on his arm. Dean had needed to come rescue him. Again. They were supposed to be on opposite sides of the world at this point.

"Sorry," Sam said. He was aware just how inadequate that statement was.

He felt Dean's grip tighten. "Listen, Sam. I realize you were a little out of it yesterday, but for the last time, this is not your fault."

"Kinda is. You weren't supposed to have to come rescue me. I was supposed to be staying away from you, remember?" Then a horrible thought occurred to Sam. What if Dean had been checking up on him? "I haven't said yes. I swear. I've been fighting him. You've got to believe me. It doesn't matter who he looks like, I'll never say yes."

"Whoah, dude. Slow down. I know you haven't. And you won't." Dean suppressed a shudder at the memory of those eye's staring out from Sam's face. "Take it easy, alright?"

"But then, why…"

"I told you why. I got that text and it scared the shit out of me. I was afraid I was going to be too late. I nearly was…"

Sam was alarmed to see Dean was shaking. It was enough to jar him out of his self-loathing. "Dean, hey. I'm fine. You said the doctors patched me up."

Dean shook his head. "It took them twenty hours to get you bandaged up and get your fever down. The bastards that did this used rusted metal. You had a raging infection that they've only just now gotten under control."

Sam stared back at Dean, surprised at the raw emotion seeping through his voice. "But they did?"

At Dean's tight nod Sam relaxed a little. "What about my hands?"

Dean blinked and turned to look out the window. "They don't know. There was a lot of damage. The doctors are optimistic that you'll get full range of motion back. But, they shattered the bones in your left hand. Your feet are going to take some time, but it looks like they're going to be fine."

Sam rested back on his pillows and let his eyes fall shut. It was all too much.

"Sam?" Sam glanced back at Dean who was staring down at him. "I'm sorry."

Sam scowled in confusion. "For what?"

"For what I said. We aren't stronger apart. We need each other to keep us human."

Sam just stared at Dean. What? "What about you not being able to trust me and my being a monster?"

Dean sat back in his chair and scrubbed his hands over his face. "We're all we've got Sam. Who else am I going to trust?"

"Thank you," Sam said softly. It was a chance he was going to cling to. "I won't let you down."

"As for you being a monster," Dean said. "I don't know what Ruby or Lilith or Lucifer told you, but –"

Sam shook his head. "No, I got your message. Right before I broke the seal."

Dean frowned. His brow winkled in confusion. "The one where I apologized?"

"The one where you said I was the kind of thing you would hunt down and kill."

The color drained from Dean's face. "I never said that."

"Dean, I heard it." Sam could feel the tears stinging his eyes, but refused to let them fall. Why would Dean try to lie about that?

"No, those fuckers must have screwed with the message. I was being held by Zachariah. He must have tampered with the phone call. I'm going to kill him." Dean was sitting on the edge of his seat, fists clenched on his knee.

It was Sam's turn to be confused. "You didn't say that?"

"No, Sam. Never."

"But then," Sam felt the dread welling in the pit of his stomach. "I thought you hated me. I though it didn't matter what I did, so I did what I thought I had to." He could feel his gut churning.

Dean thrust a bed pan under Sam's chin just in time.

When he settled back again, he could feel the dull throbbing in his extremities from the exertion. "Did you really not send that message?"

Dean shook his head. "I did call you, but it was to apologize and tell you that we were still brothers."

Sam let his head fall back. Just another chapter in the Winchersters' fucked up lives. Sam was quite honestly sick of being played like a pawn over and over again. Now he was the greatest pawn of all. He and Dean both.

There was a knock at the door and both boys turned to see who it was. Bobby was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. "You girls had enough time to braid each other's hair yet?"

Dean snorted. "We're good, Bobby."

Bobby nodded and came into the room. "Good. It's about time."

Sam smiled for Bobby, but inside he felt like ice. They had a long way to go before any of them were going to be good.


End file.
